


The Measure of Worth

by AzureTiger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Avengers Family, Depression, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve Rogers gives good hugs, Thor Needs a Hug (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureTiger/pseuds/AzureTiger
Summary: A magical being steals Thor's hammer and power, rendering the god of thunder essentially human. The team dynamic disrupted, and his place within it, Thor struggles to remind himself what worthy even means. If the hammer no longer answers to him, then what place does he have here, or anywhere?Or: Five times Steve reminded Thor how to be worthy, and one time Thor already knew.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Thor, Thor & Avengers Team
Comments: 21
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue - The Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! As always, I look forward to your thoughts and comments! I was really torn between making this a friendship fic, because platonic friendships are important, but I eventually settled on a pairing because I'm soft for that, and I want to. School is breaking me and this is my only source of joy, okay? My gay ass needs this. (but feel free to comment on that aspect if you have thoughts!)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy xx

Quietness does not last long for the occupants of Avengers Tower. It comes in spurts between missions, but they like it that way. The regular change disruption is what they all need to survive. 

Mission after mission tightly packed can wear them out, though. They’re only human. Mostly. 

Thor doesn’t appear that tired, nor even Steve – though it can be hard to tell with him because he hides it well, soldiers on. Besides, a good regroup with the team after a long stretch of work is an excellent way to recover. And regroup they do, happily trudging into the tower after a long couple of weeks busting old HYDRA bases across the world, and searching for the scepter. 

Before the jet has even touched down on the pad, Tony has JARVIS starting the coffee machine and putting out a food delivery order, enough to feed a small army. Enough to feed a god, a super-soldier, and four other hungry, over-worked humans. There will be pizza and games abound, and everyone will probably fall asleep on the furniture, only to find themselves slightly more comfortably rearranged. Thor, they suspect, because the god is often the last to fall asleep, or wakes up before they do if he does happen to drift off sprawled on the sofa with his mouth hanging open and his huge body splayed haphazardly like a ginormous cat. 

“We must play another of that Rummy game!” Thor declares, flopping into his usual spot next to Steve to deal out some cards across the coffee table. “I wish to reclaim the honor of my kingdom against the great master-mind Natasha!” He talks more like a Victorian nobleman when he’s excited. 

Bruce sits down in the recliner with his water and takes off his glasses, leaning forward gratefully so Natasha can drop a blanket around his shoulders. He looks stiff and exhausted after so many missions allowing the Hulk control. But he’s here to play, and shows no signs of leaving, picking up his hand once Thor is done dealing and leaning toward the game. Nobody has any objections, no matter how bruised they may be. There’s always comfort together. For a few hours, they get to forget about their work and all the hurt in the world they’re at least trying to make a dent in, and share the comforts of family. Nothing else matters other than winning games and leaving no left-overs. 

The life of the party is undoubtedly Thor, exclaiming his wins enthusiastically while reveling in the success of others. He’s a good sport, and seems to have assimilated well, and he makes for a valuable teammate. _In_ valuable. Near indestructible. Master of one of nature’s most powerful forces, and a loyal companion. He’s saved all of them in battle at least once, and there’s not a person in this room who doesn’t feel uplifted by his big grins and enthusiastic hugs. 

Nobody is left out of reach of Thor’s big arms, capable of crushing solid steel, yet gentle with his breakable human companions. Capable of hoisting the infinitely-heavy Mjolnir, yet also of administering soft pats to his battered friends after a big fight. 

When everyone else is drained of strength, Thor can still keep going, can protect them when they need it. There is no sturdier pillar than their god of thunder. 

“How does the hammer know who’s holding it?” Tony asks as he plays his hand. 

“It can sense the soul of whoever tries to lift it,” Thor replies casually as he watches Natasha take her turn. 

“And then in increases its density if that person isn’t worthy, or whatever?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Then how come it doesn’t create a black hole and absorb the universe?” 

“It is a magic spell, and not beholden to what you call the ‘laws of science’,” Thor replies cheerfully, already drawing his card by the time Steve is finished playing his. 

“Magic is just science we haven’t figured out yet,” Tony reasons. “So maybe the black hole is created in a fourth dimension, and mass is pulled in from another corner of space, but it’s too far away so we don’t experience the effects.” 

“Or fifth,” Bruce notes. “Time is the fourth dimension.” 

“It _could_ create a black hole in time,” Tony hypothesizes. “Maybe. Or in another reality.” 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Clint moans, tossing down his card and taking a big gulp of his drink. “You’re giving me a headache. If we’re going to talk about astrophysics or whatever, can it at least be from fictional movies? Like Star Wars? I know about Star Wars.” 

“It’s your turn,” Steve urges Tony, who hastily deposits a card onto the discard pile without much thought. 

“A~nd that’s why you lose,” Natasha smirks, laying out her hand. “Maybe if you paid attention to the game, you might win a round or two.” 

“Maybe you’re just really good at this,” Steve smiles, laying his hand down too. He was two cards away from a winning hand. 

“Another victory!” Thor proclaims, as if she has returned from a crusade. He displays his cards proudly. “And I was close! We must play again!” 

“Okay,” Natasha agrees slyly, handing him her cards so he can shuffle them. 

Nobody objects, no matter how miffed some of the team seem to be at losing. While Thor shuffles and deals, Steve gets up and pads to the kitchen to refill drinks. He returns with a beer for himself and Thor, sitting back beside his friend and popping the top. With just a glance of confirmation, Thor pauses his dealing and pulls out his flask of Asgardian liquor, adding some to both bottles. He hides the flask away again and claps Steve on the shoulder boldly, then sets off counting where he left off. 

Steve drinks, blessed with the warm tingle in his chest as his friends are from their normal Earth alcohol. In this room they are all equals, all afforded the same consideration as the next. 

Perhaps. There’s no denying that Thor is someone they fall in line with when it’s time for revels. Steve is their leader, but Thor guides them in these times of closeness. Even Tony, the serial partier, will allow himself to be pulled along by the warm, easy-going current of Thor’s overseeing. A prince he may be, but he is no dictator, reading the room to make sure that everyone is having a good time. There are no titles here in the lounge, only who acquires the most points in Call of Duty. 

When the food arrives, they swap from card games to video games, challenging each other in twos so that they can alternate and eat in between. Thor is sectioned his portion of food immediately, which he dives into, while Steve works his way more gradually through the vast amounts of food he too can eat. _Needs_ to eat. Power like that of a god and a super-soldier don’t come for nothing. _Those_ are the basic laws of energy-conservation. 

When the food runs out and the teams starts to drop off into much-needed and much-deserved rest, volumes are reduced on the games, as does Thor’s voice. He can read a room, knowing exactly when to soften so as not to disturb the deeply-slumbering Bruce or the nodding-off Tony. 

All things come to an end, as does this. Everyone has their own rooms, but they prefer to sleep together in the sitting area after a time like this, to share in the proximity. When they’ve rested, they’ll return to their own rooms, to their privacy, but for now it’s better to cluster tightly together. Steve and Thor are last to fall asleep, Steve picking up what needs to be put away as silently as humanly possible while Thor does what must be done to make sure his sleeping companions are comfortable. He slides a pillow under Bruce’s head and pulls the glasses from his shirt, resting them on the coffee table where they’ll be safe. He picks Clint’s upper body off the floor and turns him around so he’s stretched across the sofa. Natasha, he wraps in a blanket where she’s already curled up by Clint’s feet. Finally, he picks Tony off the floor and places him in the other recliner. 

All the lights are off, all the games and table-ware put away. Steve is the last to return to the sitting area from where he was putting empty bottles on the kitchen counter. Thor tosses him a blanket, and they return to their shared sofa once more. 

Thor likes to sit in his corner and lay back with his arms and legs spread out, his head tipped back, which leaves enough room for Steve to lie down in his corner and stretch out his feet. They’re too big not to overlap, but neither of them minds that Steve’s feet end up in Thor’s lap. It’s a perfectly sensible place them to go. Thor will often rest his hand over Steve’s ankle, providing a subtle sense of security that Steve wouldn’t ever admit that he needs sometimes. Maybe Thor can sense it like a dog can smell a human in distress. 

Thor watches over them for a little while before he too dozes off, catching up on the rest that he too needs. Even he needs rest, though he has plenty of strength to spare for his friends until all their needs are seen to. 

\-- 

It’s two days later, early in the morning when the call comes in and JARVIS summons them. Steve is already awake and dressed, working out in the gym. Tony is in his lab where he fell asleep very late that night, and the others are in their rooms starting the day. Everyone runs off to get changed into their battle wear, and meet up by the landing pad. 

As usual, Thor is waiting for them, having already magically changed into his armor with a flash of power. His hammer is in-hand, cape swirling around him as he holds the door for them and takes up the rear. 

“An unidentified being has emerged over the city,” JARVIS explains as the spies fly them toward the threat. “It does not appear to be from Earth.” 

They go to the cockpit to see what they can from the windows. High in the sky is what appears to be a man, flying with a cape trailing behind, his hands outstretched and his fingers glowing with magic. 

“It’s just one guy,” Tony remarks. “We can take him.” 

“We do not know what power he possesses,” Thor warns, staring grimly at Earth’s unwanted guest. “Nor do we know what he wants.” 

“We know he wants trouble,” Clint points out, pointing at the park below them. It’s covered in swarms of alien creatures spawning from a portal swirling in the middle of the grass. 

“Thor, see what you can do about that guy,” Steve orders, and Clint opens the ramp mid-air. “Tony, circle around to help, and do as Thor tells you. Both of you be careful. The rest of us will deal with these things. We’ll need the Hulk to keep them from getting beyond the park. JARVIS?” 

“Emergency responders are already on their way,” the AI responds, ever calm. 

The team splits up, Thor and Tony jumping out of the jet and flying after the wizard. Clint lands in the park, and the rest of them run out to try to coral the aliens. They’re about the size of ponies, quadrupedal, and covered in leathery skin. They’re fierce, too, but not that coordinated. Nothing too much for the Avengers to keep under control until the portal can be closed. 

Preferably, that comes when the wizard falls, and preferably that won’t be much of a hassle. It helps to have a magical being on the team when going up against other magical beings. There are a lot of other worlds out there besides Earth, so many unknowns. 

It’s quickly determined that Tony isn’t much use against this wizard, only getting in Thor’s way. So the inventor flies down to help with the aliens, and Thor focuses on the wizard alone. 

Whoever this being is, he’s powerful, easily matching Thor’s air-speed. He’s even dodging the lightning as Thor summons it. Thor’s demands that the being state name and intentions are unanswered. 

In a taunting manner, the wizard rolls under a bolt of lighting that stabs toward him, then shoots his own blast of power down into the city. The purple-ish energy blasts the corner off a building. Whatever this person wants, it’s malevolent, however the overall goal is yet unclear. Simply destruction? Some live solely to burn whatever they touch. Those people are difficult to reason with. 

Sometimes the only option is to eliminate, which Thor does his best to do. He is the protector of Earth, and it is his duty to keep these humans from harm. He lowers his flight path and tries to shorten the distance between himself and the enemy, so that when another blast is shot down he can block it. Attempt to, at least. At this speed, it’s not easy. Thor shoots off his lightning with the intent to intercept the wizard’s own magic, but he misses, and yet another building suffers. 

The portal has stretched, and the alien creatures are spilling more rapidly into the city, tying up the rest of the Avengers. If Thor wanted back-up, he can no longer receive it. He’s quite far away from the park by now anyway, chasing down the wizard but failing to stop most of the shots. 

Gritting his teeth, Thor lands on top of a building and pushes off, flinging Mjolnir with more force in hopes of speeding up his flight. His body shoots toward the enemy and strikes him, knocking them both off their trajectory to tumble across the sky in a tangle of limbs and capes. 

“Earth is not your playground,” Thor growls, tousling with the wizard as his enemy corrects their path and continues to fly them over the city. 

No reply. The human-like being raises his hand to blast Thor in the chest, and they fly apart. Thor quickly throws his body back up with a swing of Mjolnir and connects them more tightly. Perhaps he can take them both down. Or maybe he needs to call the bi-frost and send this menace to Asgard where magic will be able to hold him. Odin has cells to hold creatures like this, probably. 

“What is it you want?” Thor demands. “If you simply ask, we can come to an arrangement-” His offer is cut off with a grunt as once again his grip on the wizard is severed and he’s thrown away with a shot of power. It’s not as easy to fight someone mid-air as it is on the ground, but Thor corrects once more and closes the distance. 

The wizard turns on his back in the air and continues to fly, holding out his hand and staring straight at Thor. And Thor’s trajectory wanes, his speed slowing and his body coming to a brief stop before gravity starts to tug him back to the Earth. Thor growls and tightens his grip on Mjolnir, willing it to obey him. It doesn’t want to, but he forces it to while he spins it. Then he throws it back up and pulls himself from his fall, firing himself back toward the wizard. 

The wizard meets him half-way and rolls under him, taking Mjolnir by the handle. He pulls up, and the hammer is suddenly much heavier than before. Thor scrambles to hold on, but the wizard is flying away with Mjolnir in his grip. 

Thor can feel himself starting to fall again. He calls his hammer with an outstretched hand, and it wobbles in the wizard’s grip, momentarily questioning the enemy as it leans toward its owner. The moment is fleeting, and Thor is soon falling again. He flails his arms and shouts, summoning all his will-power to reclaim ownership of Mjolnir. 

The portal is closing, the aliens turning to rush back toward it. The Avengers look up, and Steve is the first to spot the god falling from the sky, the red of his cape dissolving. “Tony!” Steve yells once he realizes that Thor is falling without any signs of slowing. “Catch him!” 

Tony blasts upward and twists toward Thor’s plummeting body. “Full power!” he demands, but JARVIS has already given it to him. 

Hulk tosses a handful of squealing aliens back toward the portal and tears out of the park boundary, following Tony’s lead. Both of them are fast, but they might not be fast enough to catch the flailing god. 

Thor’s body hurtles through flaming wreckage and into the smoke, disappearing with a crash into what remains of a smoldering building. The last of the aliens are barely herded through the portal before the other Avengers turn away and run toward the landing site, confused and concerned. The wizard is gone when they search the sky, vanished with the portal, and taking Mjolnir with him. 

They arrive at the border of the flames, and even Steve has to squint as the smoke irritates his eyes. Tony hovers over the collapsed debris while Hulk charges into the fire, throwing pieces of steel beam and wooden structure out of the way. 

Surely their thunder god is fine. He’s literally been on top of a bomb during one of their missions, and he came out scraped and smelling of smoke, but fine. 

Hulk digs through the destroyed, flattened building, brushing embers off his immense shoulders and snorting with annoyance as the fire licks at his skin. He knows better than any of them the strength of their thunder god, but the god is almost as puny as the rest of the humans. Strong, but small. Small enough to be hard to find amidst the wreckage. 

Hulk growls and stomps his way through, searching as meticulously as he’s able. Finally he spots his teammate sprawled across some splintered wood. There’s no armor, no cape, and no hammer. Just a man in what he must have been wearing before the call was made; jeans and a loose shirt. Hulk snorts to get the god’s attention, but he receives nothing in reply, so he doesn’t stop moving closer. As gently as he’s able, he slides one massive hand under the god and picks him up out of the scorching debris, resting a finger as lightly as he can over the god’s small chest as he lopes back to safety. 

The god is breathing, at least. 

Breaths of relief are sighed as the Hulk appears from the flame with their companion held safely in one huge arm, the other hand wrapped around to shield him from the flames. Those breaths catch short as the team runs over, and the Hulk pulls away his hand. They lean over their friend, his body dressed in scorched clothes and his skin covered in soot. Thor is alive, at least, but his eyebrows are drawn into a deep frown and he’s out cold. 

Not many things can knock a god from the sky. Not many things can knock a god _out_. 

Steve slides his fingers under Thor’s chin and counts, while they all try to think of what to say or do, watching with anticipation for Thor to wake up and push himself out of the Hulk’s grasp, to brush himself off and laugh jovially as he usually does when something catastrophic fails to damage him. Instead, he does nothing. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Tony asks. 

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, “but he needs help.” 

“I have called an ambulance to your location,” JARVIS informs helpfully. Nobody else thought to do that. 

They hover there in stunned silence, waiting for some misunderstanding to make itself known, for their actions to be revealed as dramatic and unnecessary. Thor will call them fools and they’ll laugh, and all with be well. 

The ambulance pulls up, firefighters not far behind to extinguish what remains of the building. The doors open and the paramedics run out, searching the cluster of Avengers for their patient as they pull out the stretcher. Hulk lumbers over and they step back warily to leave him the room to lay his cargo carefully down. The sheet stains with soot and blood immediately. 

Hulks steps back at Steve’s command so that the paramedics can approach, and they all hang back to watch dumb-founded until the doors shut and the driver is hurrying around to the cab. 

“Somebody should go with him,” Natasha says, breaking the silence. 

“I’ll go,” Steve leaps forward, calling the driver back as he jogs over. Usually he has more orders, but not today. 

“I’ll handle the press,” Tony offers. “And I’ll get him brought back to the tower as soon as possible.” 

“I’ll look after Bruce,” Natasha reassures, looking up at the strangely-subdued Hulk. 

“I’ll get you guys back to the tower,” Clint says, turning toward the park where the jet is waiting on the grass. 

Everything will be looked after, aside from what they can do nothing about: retrieving Mjolnir and restoring their thunder god. Perhaps Thor will wake up in a minute or two, shake off whatever has been done to him and call his hammer back to him, rising back up as if nothing happened. It’s possible but it seems the grim likelihood that he will not. Not when his armor has seemingly been stripped from him, and he’s lying there in his Earth clothes, scorched and disheveled and unconscious, more human than ever before.


	2. 1 - Attenuation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things that matter.
> 
> TW for panic attacks, hints of PTSD, and general depressive symptoms.

Everything tastes of smoke.

He’s falling through the bi-frost, discarded from his kingdom by his father’s hand, removed of his power. It was an unsettling sensation to wake up in a place he didn’t recognize, possessing only a fraction of his strength, suddenly so fragile. He remembers that sensation so well that he dreams about it vividly, and often. They are not pleasant dreams, nor do they cause any less distress with each one he suffers.

The taste of smoke in his lungs is new though. Thor starts to lift his arm, ready to find it restrained at his side like he was in the New Mexico hospital, but it isn’t. He’s free to reach up and rub his face, to clear sleep from his eyes and try to get a better look of his surroundings, though he already knows what he’ll find. 

It’s not entirely the same, but it resembles any other hospital; pale-colored walls, not much decoration, some curtains that can be drawn around the bed, and a couple of monitors off to one side. In the dream he knows what those monitors are for, now that he’s spent some time with his Earth friends, but he still vividly remembers the sensation of fear that came with his confusion back in New Mexico. What were those things for? What were these people going to do to him? What  _ could _ they do, now that he was stripped of his powers?

Back then, the machines weren’t even connected to him, but they are now. Wires lead away from the screens and disappear under the collar of his gown. There’s a blanket pulled up to his chest, too, which is new.

Thor shivers. The blanket is nice, but it’s not enough. He’s freezing. Since the dream hasn’t restrained him this time, perhaps he can get up, try to find a way to free himself and wake up. Thor tries to move his arm a little more purposefully, to push himself up. Loss of coordination and strength is nothing new for a dream, but the tug of tape on the hair of his arm is new, as is the pain that throbs down the left side of his body. The groan that slips out vibrates in his throat and pulls out a cough.

“Whoa there,” somebody says to his left, accompanied by the shuffling of many pairs of feet. “Easy.” A hand touches his shoulder, halting his progress, and it feels so real. 

He knows that voice, and it wasn’t present in New Mexico. As much as Thor doesn’t want his new friends to happen upon him mid-dream, he’s grateful for the tether he can use to free himself. Thor blinks and fights his way into the waking world, and Steve is right there at his side, hesitantly holding his touch.

Steve is there, but so is the bed, the IV in his right arm, the pain. So is the pillow across his chest on which his other arm rests. He can’t really move that one. It’s heavy and sore, and he can’t bend it thanks to the cast set around it. There’s soot under his nails, and patches taped all over his skin. And it’s not just Steve who’s present, but four other people who quickly join him. Bruce is on the right, starting the machine in charge of squeezing the cuff around his bicep while the others encircle him.

There are too many things to think about, too many details to process, and an undeniable truth that those details lead to. A truth he doesn’t want to think about.

His body feels shaky like it does after a nightmare or a flashback, but unlike those times, he has barely any strength. Not enough to shake Steve’s hand off his shoulder, or to push away from the faces swarming him. He makes an effort though, needing to outline his new limits as soon as possible. By the gods, it hurts, but he can’t bear the thought of being restrained, by stranger  _ or _ by friends.

Steve continues to fight him, and it’s not much of a contest. “Thor, you have to stop moving. Just relax, okay? You’re okay.”

_ Not until you let go. _ He’s very much not okay, but it helps that Steve looks up at Bruce with a pleading stare that Thor doesn’t miss, and the doctor stops the machine. The air hisses out of the cuff and the squeezing ceases, though the many pairs of eyes watching him expectantly do not. There are too many lights, too many sounds, too many faces, and he still can’t make himself fully relax under Steve’s hands, because he can’t see where Bruce’s hands are – they could have syringes in them. It matters not that he’s run into battle with these people he would ordinarily trust. They’re going to jam him full of needles, put him to sleep and force him to comply, and he’ll be stuck here without means of escape. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know where he’d run to, nor that he’s probably too weak to run far at all.

“He’s hyperventilating,” Bruce notes quietly.

“Give him some space,” Steve suggests, looking up between his friends. “I’ll stay with him.”

Frankly, Thor would rather they  _ all _ go, but at least with Steve here it’s another variable to set this apart from New Mexico. The others move away from the bed and cluster toward the door without another sound, filing out politely.

Everything is much quieter, even though they weren’t making much sound between them. Thor swallows roughly and hopes they won’t think too hard about what just happened. The panic is still present, but at least it’s not owning him for now.

“I’m  gonna let go, but you have to relax, okay?” Steve says, still applying his restraint but already pulling back.

It’s a give-and-take, Steve not wanting to pull back until he’s sure Thor won’t try to move too much, and Thor not wanting to relax until he’s no longer being held down. With a little trust, Steve gives way first and lets go, and Thor takes a shaky breath and relaxes.

“Here, this will help,” Steve offers, reaching back and producing a glass of water in his hand, which he hands over cautiously. Thor wraps his fingers around it and holds on firmly. He has the strength for that at least.

It’s not supposed to be like this. Thor clenches his muscles against the shaking and drinks, grateful for the cold, sweet water than soothes his throat. It shouldn't be this soothing, this delicious, but it is. He needs that drink, needs the whole glass.

“Slow,” Steve murmurs, shifting close to the bed, his hands held up and ready to help, but close to his chest as if he’s afraid to. The Captain reaches out again though when the last couple of hastily-swallowed mouthfuls irritate a cough.

Thor folds into his chest and pushes the pillow against it as a brace, finding the pressure helpful. The hand pushes on his shoulder once more and unfolds him with ease. He’s no match for a super-soldier. Not today. And probably not tomorrow, either.

Uncoordinated, Thor bats Steve away as the glass is taken from him, pushing the hand off his shoulder in protest as the coughing subsides. Steve draws it away apologetically, strangely subdued compared to his usual stoic presence. 

_ Don’t look at me like that.  _ Thor stops himself from growling it out, but he thinks it. If only the Captain weren’t here, and he would be free to get his bearings. Would Steve go, if he asked? And then what?

Sometimes the only choice is to move forward. If only he knew what to say.

Steve fills in the gaps for him. “We’re in the Tower,” he explains. “Figured you’d rather be here than the hospital... We brought you back as soon as we could.”

Oh, this is the tower’s medical bay. It doesn’t look much different from this new vantage, but it does  _ feel _ different, which is probably why he didn’t recognize it. And if he’s already been to the hospital and doesn’t remember, then... The question  feels wrong on his tongue but he forces himself to ask it: “How long was I asleep?” He does his best to speak clearly and normally, but it still comes out too rough and gravelly, the words raking up his throat.

Steve looks at his watch, then back up, his gaze searching. “About a day. How you feelin’?”

“Fine, I’m fine.” It comes out without the need to deliberate, and Thor hopes that his lack of thought may help convince the sharp-eyed Captain of its truthfulness.

It’s difficult to tell if Steve fully buys it or not; he looks worried, but makes no attempt to pry. Instead, he stands up, revealing that though he’s changed into a t-shirt, he’s still wearing his uniform pants. Steve holds up a folded stack of clothes and gives a weak smile that isn’t convincing. “Thought you might like to get out of here and go back up to your room as soon as you can,” he offers. “Bruce wanted to look you over before letting you go, but he can come check on you there.”

Something more familiar will be nice, some privacy. Just about anybody could walk through this door. “Alright,” he agrees, though he has no intention of allowing anyone to check on him the moment he’s safe in his own space. “Please.” Steve  _ is _ just trying to help, and it’s thoughtful of him. Maybe he’s read into Thor’s distress for this location, too.

“Of course,” Steve replies, his eyebrows upturned softly. He leaves the clothes on the chair and walks around to disconnect the machine.

Thor would have thought silence would be better, but it’s overbearing, oozing unspoken words that hang heavy over them both. Uncomfortable with the prospect of lying there inert while Steve frees him of his tubes and wires, Thor bats the Captain’s reaching hands away and pulls down the blanket himself. His difficulty is an obvious sign of how badly his fingers are shaking, but he persists. He tugs apart the loose ties holding the gown around his body, and starts to shrug it off before Steve stops him.

“Hang on a second,” Steve commands, reaching for Thor’s arm but stopping himself.

Captain’s orders. Thor sighs and submits, relaxing so that Steve can pull the tape off his arm and slide out the IV. It stings and immediately starts to bleed, and he’s about to resume getting the gown off, but Steve is peeling the paper packaging off a band-aid. Thor holds still so it can be stuck over the bleeding hole. Then off comes the clip on his finger, and the cuff around his bicep.

Now that the obstructions are gone, he can get his arm through the sleeve. Steve helps him with the other side, wincing with apology every time he leans in to help. And Thor really needs it. His left arm isn’t that helpful, not when he can’t bend it at the elbow, and his thumb is stuck too. Reflexively, he tries to make a fist, but all he can do is curl his fingers.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Steve blurts, glancing at Thor’s straining hand as he peels the stickers off Thor’s chest. “You fell about fifteen stories.”

And landed on his arm, it would seem. Thor remembers the tug-of war mid-air for the command of Mjolnir. He remembers the dragging sensation of his power being stolen, bit by bit, as he fell. If he’d lost it quicker, he would probably be dead. Lucky doesn’t quite cut it, though he feels anything  _ but _ that as Steve helps him sit. The gown and blanket are twisted around his waist, where Steve has thoughtfully left them.

Steve really tries to let him move by himself, but it hurts too much. Strong hands guide him sitting, turning him where his muscles are too stiff to twist. Is this what humans feel like when they get knocked down? Is this what Tony felt like when he flew into a blast from a HYDRA gun by accident and was flung across the forest? Or what Natasha felt like when she was thrown off a moving vehicle? And what about Steve? Steve is – was – the second-most durable of their team, but even he can be hurt if he’s thrown far and hard enough. He’s fallen off a few high places before. Thor’s even helped him after a battle or two, run to his side to help set him back on his feet.

It’s not like Thor’s never been wounded in battle either, but it feels different. He’s fifteen-hundred years old, has suffered plenty of battle wounds of varying severity. But not like this. Never like this.

“Here,” Steve says, darting around the bed and returning with the clothes, offering them out. “You’ll be okay to  – ? ”

“Yes,” Thor cuts him off gruffly, taking the clothes more aggressively than he means to. Or maybe he really  _ did _ mean it, or at least partially wanted it to come out that way, because then Steve will leave him alone. Thor doesn’t need any help to get dressed, and he doesn’t want an audience for what he can already tell will be a painful ordeal.  _ I’m the god of thunder. I can handle putting my clothes on. _

Right now, he’s not the god of anything.

“Okay,” Steve replies calmly, taking a polite step back and lifting away his hands. “I’ll be right outside. Call me if you need me.” And the Captain turns, walking across the room and out, shutting the door behind him.

The urge to turn back onto the bed and collapse is near unbearable, but Thor forces himself to keep together and remain indifferent. Calm implies acceptance of the situation, and he’s certainly not at that place yet. How can he be when he doesn’t understand the situation to begin with? All he knows is that he needs to get to his own space as quickly as possible.

Speed is an asset he’s greatly lacking. Thor sets the clothes on the bed beside him and pulls the blanket and gown off his waist. His body is covered in burns and cuts of various degrees, some throbbing quite viciously under thicker dressings. And Thor may have been injured before, but if he's broken bones it was too long ago to remember. It’s very different from cuts or gashes. Even breathing normally is surprisingly difficult.

The cast on his arm is getting in his way. Thor starts with the shirt, feeding on the left sleeve first, then pulling it on the rest of the way while keeping his torso as still as possible. His back and side are covered in wounds that pull and throb with each minor disturbance. It doesn’t help that this shirt is one of Steve’s, so ludicrously tight. Why do none of Steve’s shirts fit him? Thor huffs to himself at the thought, distracted by it.

Distracted until he has to reach down to put on the sweats his Captain has loaned him. If he called, he knows Steve would come help him. Thor grits his teeth and wrestles his legs into the pants, sliding off the bed with the intent of pulling them up when he gets his feet on the floor.

His legs wobble and his head spins, almost bringing him down. He would have fallen, if he hadn’t tipped the right way and into the bed. His frustration only growing, Thor sets his left arm on the mattress for balance, tugging up his pants with his other hand. Steve has brought him some slip-ons which he’s grateful for. Tying laces without a second opposable thumb might have tipped him over the edge. Thor throws them down and slides into them, then he works his way into the sweater and takes a few deep breaths. Just a few steps to his suite, and then he’ll be alone.

“Steven?” he calls, knowing he might not be able to maintain an upright position if he tries to walk on his own, and it’d be worse to fall over and need Steve to come  pick him up, than to receive help now.

In a heartbeat, the door opens, and Steve examines him as he walks over, smiling warmly. He seems... relieved, yet still hesitant as he offers out his hand. “Ready to go?”

Thor nods, wanting nothing more than to shove Steve away and stomp off on his own, but submitting and allowing his right arm to be draped across Steve’s supportive shoulders. Steve wraps his other arm around Thor waist, and Thor wraps his other arm around himself, pressing it into his broken ribs. Walking hurts, rubbing his joints and pulling on more cuts and burns that are just about everywhere. Feels that way, at least. Tiny cuts. Insignificant. They’d be gone in mere hours if he had his power, and they certainly wouldn’t have hindered him this much. He’s limping, too, though he tries not to.

“You must be hungry,” Steve notes as they walk, trying to be casual but not managing to erase the deep concern from his voice, nor the air of awkwardness between them.

Thor makes a non-committal sound. Maybe he is. His stomach hurts, but it’s easy to lump that in with the rest of his pain. It strikes him that he should be in that bed still, resting and receiving medicine to help him feel better. But his wants are overpowering his needs.  _ What I need is some space. _

Steve makes no further attempts to chat as they make steady progress from Medical and up to Thor’s room. He speaks only when they arrive at the door. “I’ll ask Bruce to come up-” he starts, but Thor is tugging away and fumbling open the door, shoving Steve back and stumbling into the room. “Thor-” Steve starts, but Thor rolls around the frame and slams the door shut, activating the lock and praying that JARVIS doesn’t undo it because he’s already shaking too badly to stand up.

Thor shoves his back against the wall and slides down, succumbing to his body as it gives way. He uses the last of his strength to shuffle a few inches sideways until he reaches the corner, and buries himself into its safety even though it hurts his back and his ribs, dragging in his knees and pushing with his feet.

_ Not worthy.  _

He can’t even spite his father this time. No, this time he’s simply failed of his own right. That’s the only explanation with any strength to speak inside his clouded head.

JARVIS says something to him from thin air, and he gives a reply  without thinking. The computer leaves him alone, and so does Steve’s worried voice just outside the door. Good, they know when a fight is lost. Thor shivers into his hoodie and ducks his face into it, grabbing the front of his hair in a tight fist as he quivers. The memory of his father ripping everything from him and throwing him to Earth is still too fresh.

That time, it was maybe the best thing that ever happened to him. There, he met the people who changed him for the better. He learned a lot from Jane, but she had only known him as he was when she met him. There were no expectations.

The Avengers know what he is – what he should be.

There’s always a way out, a way forward, but Thor is struggling to summon his usual optimism in this moment. He’s having trouble breathing, only able to suck in short, panicked breaths. All the wrong sensations are too familiar. When his father threw him to Earth, there was confusion there, but it’s not as intense as it is now, nor is it born of the same reasons. Odin was teaching him a lesson, but who’s trying to teach him now? Odin in another form? Someone sent by his father to reiterate the lesson Thor thought he learned?

Has he not learned it? He’d been ready to give his life to end his brother’s wrath and protect the people he’d quickly made friends with in a few short days. He would give his life for his new friends over and over again, has placed himself in harm's way for them plenty of times. Enough time to satisfy Mjolnir, or even his father.

Perhaps it is simply torture. Thor tugs his hair more aggressively and pushes his face into his knees, knowing he must look a mess but not caring since there are no eyes to see.  _ Pathetic, _ is the most coherent thought he can manage. The whole Nine Realms will know him as the god who fell.

Desperate for comfort and familiarity, he lets go of his hair and holds out his hand, reaching his fingers into his suite in the hopes that his palm will fill with Mjolnir’s warm leather handle as it always does. What if this is just a mistake? He has to at least try to call it back to him...

Not even the ring of recognition that Mjolnir always hums to him when he  calls for it is there, and he coughs out his sob. His hammer might as well not exist, for all it’s giving him. Even light-years apart, its tune was always audible. It’s been completely severed from him now, such that it might as well not exist.

Only, it  _ does _ exist,  _ did _ exist. A truth that _ was _ has come to an end – Mjolnir no longer obeys him.

Thor lets his arm flop to the floor, and he doesn’t know why he feels so defeated as if Mjolnir were a close friend. There are worse things to lose. As Steve said, he’s lucky he wasn’t more badly hurt by the fall that should have killed what is now a mortal form. It could have shattered him beyond repair, left to live with damage that would forever hinder him, but not enough to kill him. His wounds will heal, and he’ll be just a man, eventually. Tony will probably let him stay here. He knows he should feel incredibly lucky, yet still he doesn’t. Imagining worse scenarios isn’t helping at all, so he gives up and allows his tears to soak into the pants Steve has loaned him.

Finally he exhausts himself, and manages to get his shivering under control. Back to its baseline, anyway. Thor slumps forward, even though it’s uncomfortable to pin his broken arm between his chest and his legs. He’ll get up in a minute, when he can breathe again.  _ How the others would scoff if they could see me, _ he thinks as he wipes his eyes, but the thought only lasts a moment before he scolds himself for being so foolish. Has he no respect for his team? Surely he does not think so low of them...

Thor sighs and lets his hand fall sideways into the wall, staring across his sitting room. All of this space is his, given to him by Tony Stark and made a home away from home. This  _ is _ his home, though it bears no resemblance to the golden corridors of Asgard. Thor pushes off his slip-ons and curls his toes into the laminate, focusing on the texture of the synthetic material. He prefers carpet, but he feels too weak to get up and walk to his bedroom. Maybe in a few minutes...

Too worn out to feel anything other than dejected, Thor rakes together what strength remains and slides himself up the wall on shaky legs. All the blood rushes to his head and he nearly goes down again, but he manages to stay up, and when the spots clear, he can walk on his own. It hurts more without Steve to help him, but at least he can do it. That’s something. Thor limps away from the door as quietly as he can, fearful that perhaps someone is on the other side listening. Could they hear his labored breathing? What about his sobbing he’s only just managed to contain? If anyone could hear him, it would be Steve. Steve is stronger than him now, which is... odd. He’s not sure how he feels about that, and doesn’t have the energy to lend it much thought.

Instead, he nudges open his bedroom door and cradles his arm as he shuffles across the carpet to bed. If he sleeps, there’s a chance he’ll feel better. He needs to put some distance between himself and recent events, even if it’s only a few hours. Exhausted, and not wanting to move his body if at all possible, Thor collapses onto the mattress and wraps the blankets tightly around himself, immediately falling still and shutting his eyes. His weak, traumatized human body needs rest, so it drags him to sleep without a fuss.

\--

It’s better than waking up in the  medbay , but it’s still not great to open his eyes and feel so groggy and sore, to have everything come crashing back and remind him that his pleasant normal has been disrupted. Thor groans and turns off his side onto his belly, using all four limbs to shove his body off the mattress, his casted arm making a sturdy prop if nothing else. He doesn’t make it that far before he has to pause and hold his ribs, momentarily blinded by the sharp pain of moving too fast.

Slow is key. Slow, careful, measured. Resisting the urge to just give up and lie down again, Thor keeps moving,  applying that helpful pressure with his broken arm once more. It’s not good for much else.

It’s hardly a victory that he manages to get himself out of bed, but it’s the most he’s accomplished in hours – days, maybe. Not caring how long he slept, Thor doesn’t even try to guess the time of day and stands up. It’s cold beyond the blankets, colder than he’s ever found the tower to be. Shivering, he limps toward the bathroom. Maybe if he tries to act normal and forget what happened, he’ll feel better. Push it down, move on.

Thor tips to the side and keeps hold of his ribs while he rummages for his hair brush, straightening before he can prepare himself for what he might see in the mirror.

There’s soot in his eyebrows, cuts on his face, and his hair is a mess. His skin is pale and his eyes are encircled with grey. Thor runs his thumb over the line of stitches that follow his cheek bone, draws along the strips of tape holding together a shallower cut near his eyebrow. Cuts are familiar, but bruising is not so common. Not like this. They’re warm under his fingers, swollen and boldly-colored. Injuries truly linger on mortals... How long will it take for even the smaller marks to heal?

Thor huffs at himself and makes an attempt to straighten out, to hold his chin higher and liven up his posture. He’s suffered worse and looked better. He’s made of stronger stuff than this. Or perhaps not: quickly, he reverses course and slumps back over in favor of his battered chest, sighing out in resignation.

At the very least, he should try to brush his hair. Thor turns away from the mirror and sets the brush on top of his head, slowly drawing it down. It quickly becomes stuck, so he reaches up with his other hand to help tug out the knots, but he can’t quite reach the spot he needs with the bend his elbow is stuck in. Thor grits his teeth and turns his head so he can hold some hair with his hand and tug without pulling on his scalp, but he can’t wrap his thumb around the locks, so he can’t establish his grip.

Frustrated, he throws down the brush, wincing as it bangs on the tile. One simple task, and he can’t even do that. Thor glares at the tub, at the soaps Tony bought for him. Earth makes lovely-smelling soap, and maybe it would help loosen the tangles in his hair. Only, he’s not supposed to get his cast wet. He knows that much, remembering when Clint broke his wrist. Or when Steve got his ankle crushed under a chunk of building and couldn’t walk for a week. It was by no means life-threatening, but Thor remembers how worried he was about his friend, and all his other friends when they land themselves in trouble during a mission.

For a minute, Thor considers running himself a bath anyway, knowing the hot water would feel good on his aching body, and that he could probably get his cast off if he soaked it long enough. But he can’t find the energy to be rebellious. Besides, his arm hurts pretty badly already, and he can’t imagine how badly it must be broken if it was between his ribs and the ground. The cast would need to be reapplied, and that would mean a trip to the hospital, probably with a chaperone.

Best to leave the cast on and not tamper with it, annoying as it is. Thor leans on the counter and hangs his head, staring aimlessly at the hair brush he’s tossed down, wishing for so many things,  _ needing _ so many things, yet somehow still purposeless.

Food, he definitely  needs . His stomach is rumbling emptily, and the dizziness isn’t going away. A headache is brewing behind his eyes. Feeding himself means walking into the kitchen, finding some food, making something. That sounds like effort and strain, and he can’t make himself move his feet. He can’t just stand here forever, but he can’t grasp tightly enough onto a goal.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is at the door.” JARVIS’s calm disembodied voice startles him.

Thor turns, limping to the bathroom door and leaning his head out so he can hear better – Steve is knocking, calling out to him.

“Thor, are you in there?” Another tap. “Can I come in....?” Steve sounds worried.

Letting Steve in means facing that worry, but making the soldier wait will only make his worry grow. Thor sighs and hangs his head, moving away from the support of the door frame and out into the sitting room. “Okay,” he replies quietly, loud enough  at least for JARVIS to hear him and unlock the door.

The lock clicks open, and Steve turns the nob, sliding into the suite. He shuts the door behind him, and they stand there with the sofa between them. Thor looks away shamefully.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, leaning forward anxiously but standing his ground. “We’re all pretty worried about you...”

“I’m fine,” Thor grouses before he can stop himself, anger quickly replacing anything else. What’s wrong with asking? Wouldn’t it be worse if nobody could be bothered to stop by and see if he’s alright?

He’s never going to convince anyone that he’s fine like this. Thor makes a better effort to straighten up and look the part. Annoyingly, it backfires and brings back the stars that swarm his vision. That dizziness has never properly cleared up, and it intensifies to the point that it nearly brings him straight down.

It would have if Steve weren’t so fast. Hands catch him and prop him up. “That was my bad for asking a stupid question,” Steve says apologetically, getting under Thor’s arm and turning him toward the sofa. “Here, come sit.”

It’s not really an offer, and even if it were, Thor’s not in the position to be choosing. Besides, sitting on the sofa is better than lying on the floor, which is where he’s going to end up if he’s not careful. Was Steve always this big...? Even the largest of his human friends never seemed that big, but Steve is almost the same size as him, and plenty strong enough to stop him from toppling. The soldier radiates warmth in a way Thor never noticed before. Perhaps it’s alright to be pressed up together... He makes no effort to remove his arm from where it’s draped around Steve’s sturdy shoulders.

“You probably shouldn’t even be out of bed,” Steve murmurs more to himself, eyebrows upturned when Thor glances up just briefly. A hand reaches up and searching fingers push under his jaw for a pulse.

They sit there in brief silence as Steve counts, and Thor tries to think of something to say. Either that, or try to get Steve to leave, but he wants to sit here a little longer.

“I think you’re having a sugar crash,” Steve concludes, pulling his fingers away and resting his knuckles against Thor’s forehead. “Your pulse is  goin ’ nuts, and you’re really pale. Probably need some water, too. When did you last eat?” 

_ I am perfectly capable of caring for myself. _ Clearly not. Thor has the sense to be  embarrassed as he shrugs, half expecting the Captain to scold him.

Steve does no such thing, remaining just as kind and patient as always, but a touch hesitant with his touches, and still weighted by a guilt that Thor can’t rationalize. He doesn’t have the energy to ask about it. All he can do is sit here as Steve starts to pull away. “Stay here, okay? I’ll get you something.”

It’s not as warm on the couch alone. Thor folds in on himself as Steve walks to the kitchen, knowing he has to say  _ something _ if he’s going to convince anyone that he’s alright. He’s still himself, still their friend. They’ll think he’s some sort of fraud if he doesn’t try to move on and behave as they’ve always known him.  _ Maybe I am a fraud. Maybe I never was worthy, and this is my punishment for thinking I was. To be given power, and for the Nine Realms to see me use it, only to have it torn away and be cast back down to nothing in a great  _ _ spectacle _ _. _

Nothing? Is that what he is? The humans he swore to protect are worth something, though they do not possess godly powers. These humans are worth a great deal to him, and that’s why he’s on their planet instead of his own, because he wants to keep them safe from threats they are not equipped to handle.  _ Threats that I was not equipped to handle either. _ Perhaps they never needed him, needed someone more powerful instead.

Steve appears at his side again, sitting on the cushions a respectful distance and handing over the plate. Is the hesitance in his approach Thor’s fault? It strikes him that it might be, because he’s not been kind. His friends are right to be worried about him. What has he done to deserve the help Steve is still providing? Thor looks down at the food in his lap and the glass of orange juice Steve is holding for him, because Thor can only hold things with one hand.

“Drink first,” Steve offers.

What can he do but obey? Thor takes the glass and sips, enjoying the citrus tang in his throat and the soothing coolness. What would he have done if Steve hadn’t checked up on him? Stood there in the bathroom until his body gave into its mortal needs and collapsed? Possibly. Thor swallows and gives back the mug, but he holds off eating and makes himself lift his head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, forcing himself to take in Steve’s kind expression. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean... I should not have..."

“It’s alright,” Steve says kindly, leaving a little space for Thor to try to finish the thought but moving in when it’s obvious his companion can’t find the words. “I’d be pretty annoyed too in your position.”

“I still should not have shut the door in your face.”

Steve is smiling for some reason, but he’s still wearing that guilty undercoat that bleeds through everything else he conveys. “I’d be overwhelmed too, if I were in your shoes. But I appreciate it.”

“You were just trying to help,” Thor reasons. Is it that easy?

It usually is with Steve. He’s very straight-forward and uncomplicated, and the person Thor’s always felt the most connection with amongst their team. Perhaps Steve feels the same, and that’s why they always sit together at group gatherings.  Usually Thor would want to reach out and give his Captain a solid pat on the shoulder or a friendly nudge of respect and comradery, but it doesn’t feel right to do right now.

“I’ve done it to you,” Steve calmly counters. “You tried to help me when I needed it, remember? And I shoved you off? But you kept at it, made sure I got back to the jet in once piece.”

_ I suppose so... _ Thor shrugs and has looks down at his meal. “I am still sorry...”

“And I forgive you,” Steve replies understandingly, handing out the cutlery. “So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Obediently, Thor nods, submitting to his friend’s encouragement and to his rumbling belly. Steve has considerately prepared him something he can eat without his other hand; some toast with scrambled eggs spread across it to he can pick it up, and a few slices of apple.

They sit together in silence as Thor eats, and his stomach feels a lot better with something inside it. He feels a little better all over, actually, and the company isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Thank you,” he murmurs when the plate and glass are empty.

“You’re welcome,” Steve replies, his pleased tone quickly fading. “I owe you an apology too...”

Confusion is a nice change from hopelessness. Thor looks up at his friend and frowns. “For what?” Surely Steve owes him nothing.

“If I’d kept my eye on  you, I’d have seen you were in trouble sooner, and we’d have caught you.”

Accidents happen on the battlefield. Thor has failed to protect his teammates before. He tries his best, but sometimes he’s simply too far away, to occupied with his own enemies. “It is not your fault,” he reassures.

“It’s my job to look out for my teammates,” Steve insists. “And I wasn’t really looking out for you as well as I should have been. If I’d kept my eye on  _ all _ my team, you might not have gotten hurt.”

Maybe not, but that still doesn’t make it Steve’s fault. Even if it is, it was a mistake. Why should Thor receive forgiveness for choosing to be unkind toward his friend, but that same friend should not for an honest mistake? He wouldn’t hold it against Steve anyway. “It’s alright,” he replies, finding some confidence at least for this. “Truly.”

“I’ll do better,” Steve promises.

“As will I,” Thor agrees hastily. 

Steve smiles, and his touch is surer as he reaches out and pats Thor gently on the shoulder. “Maybe you should go back to bed. You look exhausted.”

“I’ve been asleep for ages.”

“Because you need it,” Steve counters wisely, moving the plate from Thor’s lap to the floor. He slips back under Thor’s right arm. “Come on. It’ll help, I promise.”

Even the mightiest Asgardian warriors need rest after they’ve been struck down in battle. Succumbing to Steve’s wisdom and aid, Thor gets his legs under him and lets his friend help him back to the bedroom. He’s moved around more than he should have, and it shows. It’s going to be such a relief to lie down...

Steve helps him into bed, forcing him to go slowly and offering more deliberate aid. More willing to receive, Thor lets himself by lowered and turned and adjusted. Steve stacks the pillows up behind his back. “You should try to sleep sitting up for a few days,” Steve suggests, pulling up the blankets. “It’ll help the pain, and make it easier to breathe.”

It’s definitely more comfortable. Thor sighs gratefully. What would he ever do on his own? He certainly hasn’t been tucked into bed in centuries.

“Try to keep your arm up a bit too,” Steve advises, tucking another pillow under it.

The elevation eases some of the pain that radiates through his arm. He nods acceptingly.

“Can I get Bruce to come  check on you?” Steve inquires. “Check your vitals? Take a look at some of those burns? We just don’t want you to get sick...”

Thor weighs reason against preference, and Steve waits patiently for an answer. A compromise is reached. “Perhaps later...?” Thor pleads. He’s not yet ready to face his other friends. He will when he feels a bit better. It’s not fair to hide away from them, but he needs some more time. “I just want to be alone for a little while...”

“Okay,” Steve agrees with an understanding smile. “Get some rest, okay? And call if you need something. JARVIS will get me, or whoever you want. We’re all happy to help.”

“Okay,” Thor agrees, and Steve’s smile grows impossibly warmer. The Captain starts to move toward the door, but Thor finds a bolt of his usual courage shooting through him, giving him the strength to reach out and take Steve by the arm. His hand slides down it as the soldier moves away.

Steve doesn’t reverse course in time, and their hands slip together. They hang there staring at their wrapped fingers, but neither makes the effort to move away.

It takes Thor a moment to remember what he was going to say. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve beams, squeezing. It feels nice. It feels close. “We’re a team.”

And Thor smiles too, just a little, because they are.

They let go, and Thor is just as slow to tuck his arm back under the covers as Steve is to wander toward the light switch. Steve shuts it off and closes the door, leaving Thor alone in the darkness. As Steve walks through the sitting room and out of the suite, Thor wonders if perhaps being alone doesn’t mean without Steve. As much as he needs the space to try to assemble the pieces of what’s happened, he preferred the escape Steve offered.

Escape cannot be forever. Thor shuts his eyes. What if escape is all he has? If he is no longer worthy of his power, then what is there to contemplate? All he can do is attempt to move forward and shrug off the whole thing as if it never happened. He doesn’t need his power to play games with his friends. Would they still let him fight alongside them? They don’t understand the implications of what’s happened, but why would they trust him with their safety on the battlefield if he can’t be trusted with his own power? If he has no power to protect them with?

There are solutions in there somewhere, but he doesn’t have the energy to construct them. Thor tries to fall asleep before he gets too sucked into a dark place that will keep him awake. Steve asked him to rest, and he should be able to do at least that.


End file.
